


nolens volens

by Mossgreen



Series: 2770 ab urbe condita [51]
Category: 2770 ab urbe condita - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cock Warming, Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Master/Slave, Present Tense, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 14:04:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18477748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/pseuds/Mossgreen
Summary: It might be just a quiet evening in, but Ven can't settle





	nolens volens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ItStartedWithPotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItStartedWithPotter/gifts).



Ven is jittery this evening, for absolutely no reason that he can think of. He has walked to the Phallusy offices, and back via the baths, toiling up to the Quirinal after his master who is self-assured as ever, despite the _pallium_ he is wearing - two layers of clothing (plus _subligaculum_ ) to Ven’s sole garment. He has, furthermore, done his set exercises, and his studies, and the further work Master has decided he should do (type up and send some emails on his behalf).

 _cena_ is over and done, and Ven still feels… jittery. Unable to sit and relax. He can’t concentrate on his book, it isn’t the day when Master uses him for filming. He just can’t settle, and he has no idea why. 

Naturally, he tries to hide it from his master - what master wants to be distracted by a bored, jittery slave? A slave’s full attention should be on his master every second he is in his master’s presence, whether the master requires him or not. Ven glances up at Moss, and across at Junio; they are both standing, looking relaxed, but Ven knows that if Master were to twitch his little finger, they would both tense, ready to run whatever errand he wants. 

And Ven can’t settle down. He wants to get up, go for a walk, maybe spend another half an hour on the treadmill - though even that wouldn’t do it.

Finally Master gives in and snaps his fingers. Three pairs of eyes are immediately fastened on him, waiting for whatever he says next. 

“Ven, if you can’t settle down, I will make you!” 

Ven had, like any good slave, been doing his best to hide his fidgets from his master. His master, on the other hand, wasn’t like any _other_ citizen, and had noticed. 

“I’m sorry, Master.” 

The threat doesn’t help - and Ven knows it’s a threat, his master’s threats are always that, and he always follows through if given a reason to. 

Finally, Master adjusts his position, sitting up and letting his knees fall open. “If you can’t settle, you can get to work being useful. Get your mouth on my prick, no sucking. Just hold it there and stop fidgeting.” 

Ven has to hide a wince. Brought up in Italy, he is as Roman as his master (without the privileges, benefits and protection of citizenship, admittedly) and is fully aware of the implications of such an act. It is meant to degrade, to remind him of his place, and it does, every time he is required to have a man’s cock in his mouth. 

He nuzzles under his master’s tunic, carefully reaching for the waistband of his _subligaculum_ which he pulls down enough to free his master’s flaccid penis from its cotton confines. He presses a kiss to the head and reluctantly opens his mouth to take it in. His master is, thankfully, sitting far enough back in his seat that Ven can rest his chin on the edge of it, careful of his master’s testicles. 

His world has narrowed to the shadowed confines of his master’s tunic. The sounds of the TV are distant, although he can hear everything that’s going on if he listens. His master’s cock is warm and solid, filling his mouth, and his nose is filled with the most intimate scent of him. The only other things he can see are his master’s thighs to either side and the tight dark spirals of pubic hair that frame the cock he is reduced to warming. He is reduced to breathing through his nose, slowly, so as not to disturb his master by the unwanted motion of air on the part of his cock Ven can’t get into his mouth in this position. 

Slowly, he finds himself calming, his breathing growing steady and the rhythm of his heartbeat almost audible, if he could hear it over the distant sounds of the TV - his master is watching something that Ven thinks sounds like a documentary. It might be a wildlife documentary, or something historical - he is sure that he has heard the word ‘Africa’ mentioned. He would like to see the screen, but it is his own fretfulness that has put him here, on his knees, and there is nothing he can do apart from breathe, and relax, and wait for his master’s pleasure. However long it takes. 

“Good boy, Ven,” Master says, patting his head through the cotton of his tunic, and Ven nearly purrs. He wants to be his master’s good boy, it isn’t an easy thing to achieve, and there are so few other achievable goals a slave can have. Of course, all citizens want their own comfort to be the highest priority their slaves have, and it’s stupid how easy it is, really, to persuade a slave that’s what he wants, too. A few compliments and fond pet-names, here and there, and the slave will do almost anything for his master. 

It is actually ridiculously relaxing doing this, doing… _nothing_. If you don’t forget what you’re doing and try closing your mouth, or swallowing, or something. It isn’t as though a cock is exactly a small thing to have stuffed in your mouth, it’s probably bigger around than the average sausage, after all. But it’s also a little tiring, having to have your mouth open that much, for as long as your master says (actually, he doesn’t say, it just ends when it ends, and that could be ten minutes later, or two hours, or more!). 

But there’s also something about it that speaks of trust - although if Ven did anything that might inadvertently hurt his master, his master wouldn’t hesitate in the least to grab a whip or flogger and make him regret it. Though that would be after the wincing had stopped, of course. 

He hears the end credits of whatever the programme is, but it’s followed by a second set of credits as another episode begins, and his master sighs, pats his head and seems to relax further into his seat. Ven adjusts his tongue carefully, swallows his saliva equally carefully, and closes his eyes against the soothing scents and twilight shades, content to be a good boy. 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Title: _nolens volens_ \- Willing or unwilling  
>  _pallium_ \- a cloak or wrap only worn by citizens. Easier to wear and less formal than a toga, they were often brightly coloured and most usually secured with a brooch at the shoulder  
>  _subligaculum_ \- loincloth, underwear. Often found in the form of boxer shorts in this universe, although the traditional loincloth form is still very popular  
>  _cena_ \- dinner, the formal evening meal


End file.
